


Back Again

by angelaiswriting (carolinemoore)



Category: Black Sails
Genre: F/M, Resurrection, What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-14
Updated: 2017-05-15
Packaged: 2018-10-31 17:30:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10904115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carolinemoore/pseuds/angelaiswriting
Summary: The reader brings Charles Vane back from the dead.





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> Requested on Tumblr by Anon(s): “First off I want to say how amazing your blog is!!!! I’ve been looking for stuff like this since the end of Black Sails! I was wondering if you could write an imagine where the reader brings Vane back from the dead (Kinda like Calypso & Barbosa In POTC) and Vane ends up falling for the reader. Thanks !!” + “Vane is Made Pirate King of Nassau and makes reader his Queen”  
> As always, I apologize for any mistakes for English is not my native language.  
> You can read this on my Tumblr too! (angelaiswriting.tumblr.com/masterlist)
> 
> This is going to have a 'Part 2', which may or may not contain smut (in which case I'll change the rating and add tags).

Charles felt uncomfortable. Something hard was behind his back – or _beneath_ it: he wasn’t quite sure which of the two options was correct.

He clearly remembered dying, or at least standing on the gibbet. The Englishmen had hung him in front of the people that had once been his comrades or his enemies in the search for power and treasures that had led his – and still led _theirs_ – life. He remembered saying something to them, something along the lines of ‘just kick their fat asses after I’m gone’, but he couldn’t quite grasp the exact words he had used.

His skin prickled. His neck hurt as if that damn rope were still around it, blocking the air from reaching his lungs.

Then it hit him. A strange smell of smoke. It wasn’t quite the smoke of cigars, or of bonfires, to which he had once been used to – it was sweeter, almost heavier, but smoke nevertheless. It felt like it was cuddling him, lulling him to sleep.

He had never believed in religion, in the distinction between Heaven and Hell, in the fight between God and the Devil, Good and Evil. He had never been quite a good person either – he had killed, kidnapped, robbed, hurt. He had been petty and violent. He had been enslaved, but he had eventually redeemed himself.

God had never been there for him – all his life he had believed only in himself, in his fellows and in his enemies, even. He’d send Him to hell if only he could.

That’s why he didn’t think he had ended up in Heaven.

Heaven would be too good for someone like him. He’d feel too much at peace there – Heaven was not a place for someone like Captain Charles Vane, restless, needing people, rum, gold, miles under his belt and under his _Ranger_.

 

He had probably fallen asleep, even though he had yet to open his eyes.

It was just too peaceful, laying or standing there like that – wherever he was. He didn’t even care if he was in a coffin six feet under or at the bottom of the sea. He felt like he had earned some sleep, some rest. Because let’s admit it: being a pirate _and_ a captain is not an easy thing. You always had to watch your back, to grant the crew what they needed (which almost always was gold to buy rum or to bang a whore). You had to plan the assaults, to keep away from His Highness’s ships and bounty hunters, for you almost always had a bag of silver hanging above your head and a whole bunch of bigots who wanted you dead.

And he _had_ died, to their utter joy.

They got rid of Charles Vane and they were now free from that terror.

Or at least that’s what they might have been thinking, Charles told himself.

 

Days had passed. Maybe centuries. Charles didn’t even know – time felt like it was flowing terribly slowly, it felt dilated, heavy. He didn’t know and he didn’t even care. He felt like it didn’t matter. And if this was eternity... well, he’d have to put up with it.

Then, suddenly, almost unexpectedly, his eyes fluttered open on their own accord.

For a moment the bright light blinded him and he squinted his eyes.

Now that he was wide awake he could feel something under his back, something soft, not hard as he had perceived it before. Peeking from under his lashes he saw the hem of a brown blanket covering him, rising and falling with each breath he took.

Did he just come back from the dead?

It was a silly thought, but a hope nevertheless. He wasn’t done with life. Heck, he’d never be done with the _sea_ – it was still out there, somewhere, waiting for him, calling him like a siren, needing him to sail it again.

And maybe God – that God in which he had never believed before, that God who had always been against him – was the only one to actually know how much he still needed it – the sea, the sand, the rum, a ship under his feet. He still needed the world and whatever it had to offer. And he’d always be there to catch its gifts.

A low hum distracted him and he immediately closed his eyes shut, slowing his breath down, pretending to be asleep.

He felt someone entering the room, shuffling things around, humming an old tune he had already heard somewhere in his past – or maybe it was just an impression since he couldn’t remember the moment or the person who had once hummed it.

“My God, Charles Vane,” a woman’s voice huffed. “If only had I known you’d take so long to wake up from the dead, I would’ve never brought you back.”

Another sigh.

Then he felt the mattress underneath his body lowering, something warm – probably her body – sitting just millimeters from his left leg.

“I had heard you were a good company,” she went on and Charles heard the noise of moving water. “But I have to be honest with you: you’re actually not.” She moved a little in her spot: what Charles thought was her thigh got closer to his own and he thought she had turned to look at him.

Him? Not a good company? Who the heck was this girl?

“I mean, I know that coming back from death is no walk in the park, but come on!” She got closer and pushed his thigh a little. He felt the blanket being lifted from him and the hot air in the room hit his chest like a slap. “I know I shouldn’t because let me tell you – you have a great body,” she spoke again and something wet started to clean his chest. “Scarred and all, but a great body indeed,” the woman added. “But, you know, I’m tired of cleaning you up. I can’t even get it – you’re always sweating.”

Charles tried not to frown – who the hell was she? What did she want? The urge to shut her up was so strong he literally had to bite his tongue to prevent himself from opening that damn mouth he had.

He let her wash his chest and when he felt her movements go lower, he opened his eyes.

He only had a couple of seconds to take in her Y/H/C hair before he grabbed her left wrist in a swift movement.

She jumped in surprise and the cloth she was using to wash him fell on his abdomen. She struggled to get free and ended up knocking his groin with her elbow. The grasp on her wrist disappeared all at once as Charles closed his legs and eyes, cursing under his breath.

Y/N jumped on her feet. Before he knew it Charles Vane had a gun pointing at his head.

“Don’t move or I’ll send you back where I took you from,” she growled, but he could see the fear in her eyes, hear it in her voice.

Charles got up on an elbow, one hand still on his groin. Damn, he didn’t come back from the dead to be kicked where the sun doesn’t shine, he thought. Or at least he _hoped_. “Who the hell are you?”

“Well, no ʽthank you’?” she pouted, gun still aiming at him.

“ _Thank you_ ,” he mocked her, sitting up. His eyes hurt like hell and they were so sensitive that they were watering.

“I’m Y/N,” she answered. “And close your eyes, they’ve not recovered completely yet,” she added, throwing him a dark bandage and lowering the gun.

She stared at him for a minute or so before reaching the bed again. Charles recoiled a little, scared he might get hit again, and dragged the blankets with him. Y/N simply bent down to grab the washbowl full of water but didn’t dare to retrieve the cloth she used with him.

The young woman reached the doorway and moved the curtain she used as a door. She had already taken a step forward when she stilled for a second. She turned to face Charles Vane and smiled. “Sleep now, you need to rest.”

 

A week had passed by quickly.

Charles had already started to go outside, even though Y/N always tried to stop him. He had just come back from the afterlife – the whole ritual had exhausted her and she couldn’t even start to guess how weak he had to feel – but he needed to go back to the world.

She almost liked him better unconscious. Those first three weeks had passed slowly, but at least he had been silent. Now he had turned out to be a huge pain in the ass. He whined about everything, had her to sleep on the uncomfortable couch she had in what could’ve been called a living room, and did absolutely nothing to help her out.

Charles sat by the sea, not knowing where he was. She told him they were still on New Providence Island, but in which fucking part? He was fuming: he had to go back. Go back and check on the Englishmen. Help out those who wanted them dead. Kill Eleanor himself.

“Make yourself useful,” Y/N’s voice grunted and a second later two big fish brushed against his head while falling.

He turned around and grabbed her by her ankle, stopping her from stomping away. “Who do you think I am?”

“I brought you back, _Charles_ ,” she growled, freeing her foot. “Show more gratitude or I’ll send you back. People like you cast me out. I helped you because I thought you could change the things on this stupid island,” and she knelt down in front of him, eyes burning, rage furiously flowing with her blood in her veins. “You’d better show me you deserved being saved because I’m no lady and I can be your worst nightmare.”

And with those words, she left.

 

“I’ve been a dick,” Charles said out of nowhere that evening, while the two were having dinner.

The fish he had cleaned was delicious and Y/N would’ve loved to have more of it, but that frigging pirate was starving and she had to cede part of her food. And she understood it, really – being dead and coming back, remaining unconscious for weeks and drinking somehow only fish soup didn’t sound like easy things, but...

She sighed. “Yes.”

“I’d like to apologize,” he continued, pouring more water into his wooden glass.

“You better,” she mumbled before standing up. She took his dish and hers and reached the sink in the adjoined little kitchen.

“Sleep in your bed tonight.”

She turned towards him and frowned. Was he kidding? Or did he really mean it? “You don’t fit on the couch,” she pointed out, raising an eyebrow. Was he going to sleep on the floor? She’d laugh: Captain Charles Vane sleeping on the ground just so that she could have her bed back. She shrugged her shoulders. “Don’t worry about me. Just think about your health: the sooner you recover, the sooner I kick you out of my house.”

They slept together that night. It wasn’t romantic, it wasn’t for sex – they just laid in Y/N’s bed, side by side, and they both fought to fall asleep.

They talked for a while – she told him how she had found his corpse a few feet from her door, that she had no idea who could have brought him there. She didn’t exactly tell him _how_ she brought him back – and sure as hell all she wanted was to forget the things she had done to reach her target – but she explained how she had taken care of him before he woke up.

He let her talk and kept his gaze fixed on her face only because he knew she had her eyes closed. He like the sound of her voice, it always calmed him somehow. And when her voice did its magic he always realized how he had needed it without even knowing.

Her skin was pale, even though the sun burnt New Providence and everyone and everything on the island. She had the skin of a lady, one of those you could find in a big city, with a nice house, a rich husband and kids she didn’t have to look after.

He brushed his hand against her arm, but she gave no sign of feeling his touch.

“Why did you take me back? Why did you think I was worthy of it?” he suddenly asked, voice tired.

She managed to shrug her shoulders even if she was laying. “You were strong, determined. No one even dared to stop you, everyone feared you. But you cared for your people and followed your heart, doing what you thought was the right thing to do,” she answered and turned her head in his direction, eyes wide open. “I thought... maybe you were the right person to free Nassau, to bring order.” She snickered while adding: “To get rid of those Guthries.”

They both laid in silence for a while, him staring at the ceiling and her staring at his profile.

“And because you were a slave and freed yourself,” she whispered. “I wish I had your same strength back in the days.”

He frowned and tried to ask her what she meant, but she yawned and snuggled into the cushions.

Before he knew it, she was sound asleep. In the dim light of the candle still burning on her bedside table, he saw a pale long scar on her right cheek.

 

A month had passed since his resurrection, but Charles couldn’t accept the idea of leaving Y/N and the peace of the place where she lived.

It was quiet, no one ever came. Isolated God knows where her cottage was small but comfortable. A vegetable garden was the first thing that would welcome you when you reached her house. Tomatoes tanned under the sun, herbs scented the air, flowers shone like stars.

Charles had never thought of having a house, or a wife. For a long, long time his house had been the _Ranger_ , his wife – the sea. His crew had been like an extended family – they were the only people he’d ever need, the only people he had trusted, the only people he had wanted by his side.

But now... with each day he felt himself falling harder for the young woman who had resurrected him. He almost felt the need to stay with her, to even just stare at her while she did whatever she did every day. He smelled the sea on her skin and that salty water – which he had loved all his life – smelled differently, it changed her scent and she changed its.

He had never been the romantic guy some women wanted. He was rough, he was vulgar at times, he was more like the raging sea than a man. But with her by his side, with peace filling his days, with nothing to worry about... a thought flashed in his mind, almost like a wish, like a hope: he could stay here forever. He could go to sea and come back to her, and in those days in which he’d remain home he could smell the scent of the unknown on her skin, see distant places in her eyes, hear in her voice the sound the wind makes when it caresses the sails.

“What are you staring at?” she asked, smiling, and sat next to him on the shore.

She was bare feet and wore blue cotton trousers and one of the shirts she had given him.

“You,” he blurted out before he could stop his tongue.

Her cheeks turned red, but he wasn’t quite sure whether it was because of the hot sun or because of his words.

He caught himself thinking how cute she was, with red cheeks and light freckles dotting the skin of her face.

She averted her gaze and turned towards the sea.

Waves were washing the shore and the sun looked like fire on the water. Seagulls were flying and screaming above their heads.

“Was it hard?” he asked, hoping to get her to talk.

“What?”

“Bringing me back.”

She looked at him and smiled, then shrugged her shoulders. “No,” she answered, but Charles knew she was lying.

“What’s that scar on your face?”

“The past,” Y/N sighed. “And the past stays in the past,” she added. “You’ve quite recovered.”

She looked sad while she stared at him. The wind was blowing from the sea against her face and her hair flew behind her in a Y/H/C mess.

He nodded and this once he was the one to stare at the sea. “Do you want me gone?”

Y/N sighed. “No, I’m not sure. I’ve been alone for years and it’s good to finally have someone to talk to, even if that someone’s just got back from the dead.”

“I like it here,” he confessed, wrists resting on his knees. “With you.”

She smiled and threw some sand in his direction.

“But I have to go back to Nassau,” he added, turning to face her.

She sat still for a moment and he saw her swallowing hard. Then she nodded.

“And I want you to come with me. I’ll need your help to take the port.”


	2. Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles Vane and the reader, with the help of Jack Rackham and other men, manage to conquer Nassau.  
> [Smut at the end of the chapter]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, this is my first attempt at smut since ages, and anyway nobody’s ever read my smuts. Your opinions about how it turned out would be sooooo appreciated!  
> You can read this second part of 'Back Again' on my Tumblr too! (angelaiswriting.tumblr.com/masterlist)

It took Charles Vane days to convince Y/N to help him with the conquest of the port of Nassau, but he eventually succeeded. He hoped Y/N would keep her promise because once back into civilization he’d really need her help.

He had spent a lot of time training her with the two swords she somehow had in a trunk under her bed. And damn, she was now very good at it! She had whined all the time because she wasn’t sure she really wanted to do this, but he hadn’t listened to her and he was so proud of the result.

And then something happened.

They had been fighting all day and he had taught her some moves. It had been an exhausting day and they had somehow ended up kissing each other. It hadn’t been a sweet kiss or a passionate one: it had been hungry, almost as though their lips and tongues had been continuing that day’s training.

Then, as swift as it had come, the kiss broke.

They hadn’t talked about what had happened ever since.

Even now Charles was sure he had felt the sea on her lips and that wish came up again: to be with her because he loved the sea and she _was_ the sea. And how could he let that slip from his fingers?

He could lose Nassau, he could lose the gold, he could even lose his crew. But the sea, that never-ending and yet finite expanse of water and thrill... Even with nothing left he would never let go of it. That same salt water flowed in his veins and determined who he was.

A pirate.

A _Captain_.

And even though he could have a safe and peaceful life with Y/N, he didn’t want all those men to let go their real identity. It was love, what they felt, and it was life. And what was a man without love and life? What was a pirate without the sea and all it had to offer?

 

In front of him, there was Nassau teeming with life and not even night was able to put the town to sleep.

Hidden behind a group of palm trees, Charles Vane and Y/N observed its life, the coming and going of pirates and harlots. Two Englishmen stood at the entrance of the building where – according to Vane – Eleanor lived.

 _Woodes Rogers probably lives there too_ , he had whispered in her ear while pointing at the building with his sword.

Y/N had been quiet ever since they had left her cottage that afternoon.

She was scared, Charles Vane could almost feel it on his skin like when the sea gets ready for a storm. He could see the flames of the bonfires in the distance reflected into her eyes while she looked at them.

“I didn’t remember this place to be so beautiful,” she whispered, crawling a few feet back to hide behind the remaining of old launches.

He followed her and laid against the wood. “Why did you leave?”

“I thought we had an agreement.”

“Jack Rackham hasn’t come out yet. We have some time to talk.” He wanted to know. He _needed_ to know something about her. She knew almost everything about him and to him she still was a mystery.

“It’s stupid,” she said, hoping that those words would cut the conversation to an end. But he urged her to speak and she didn’t know how to say ’no’ to him anymore. “I was kind of a slave, something like seven years ago. You know, a fanatic captain found me in the Caribbean and thought I was Calypso. He was so convinced of it that he kidnapped me.”

“Calypso?” Charles chuckled. “As in the goddess of the sea?”

Y/N nodded. “He wasn’t a very lucky pirate and his crew grew angrier by the second. He thought that maybe with me by his side he’d tame the sea, he’d turn it to his side. Which was the most stupid thing I’ve heard ever since I can remember – I am no goddess and sure as hell I can’t tame the sea,” and she laughed a little. “You just can’t tame it. However, I ended up here and when he understood that I couldn’t be of help... well, he did things to me – bad things. No one helped. They all stood by and stared, all those people, but never reached out to help me. In the end, I left.” She turned to looked at him and found him staring intently at her. “I hope this is your only question because – as I’ve already said – the past stays in the past.”

He tilted his head and eventually nodded. He wanted to know that captain’s name but knew well enough that she wouldn’t answer that question.

Charles could understand why that guy thought she was Calypso. She looked beautiful, free yet caged, but there was something inside her, something deep and as old as the sea, that couldn’t be tamed. There was a spark in her eyes, something that death and torture couldn’t switch off.

And yet she had brought him back. He had died and yet still breathed. What human being could do something like that? And what was the price of such a miracle? He knew nature wasn’t keen on giving without receiving something in return.

What had been the price of his resurrection?

He was about to ask her, to force her to answer him, when a well-known voice caught his attention. When he turned, Jack Rackham, his former quartermaster, was taking a piss.

Charles grabbed Y/N’s arm and pointed at Jack. “Go take him. I don’t care what you do, but bring him here.”

She snorted but stood up anyway.

“Hi there,” she smiled when she reached him.

Jack started in surprise and hurried to put his prick where it belonged. He turned around and furrowed his eyebrows. “Who are you?”

“A friend,” she simply answered before she sweet-talked him into following her.

 

Keeping Jack’s surprise quiet had been quite a challenge, but Y/N had eventually shut his mouth by putting her handkerchief into it.

Convincing him to help the two of them... well, that was something Y/N would never willingly do ever again.

But in the end, Jack Rackham had gathered them an army – or, better, a bunch of drunk nostalgic pirates. Y/N had looked at Charles and stopped herself just in time from saying: “You must be kidding me.”

Even when that Jack guy told them that the Brits had sent back home their ships and only kept two in the bay, the girl remained pissed.

“This is going to be a suicide,” she muttered to Charles a few nights later, after one of their gatherings with the men.

“Probably,” he answered, looking up at her before downing his rum. Fuck, he hadn’t drunk that shit in ages and he had missed it. “But I’m not giving up on what’s mine.”

“And what exactly is yours?” Y/N bit back. “You died. Nothing’s yours anymore.”

“The sea still is. And it’s theirs too. Some of them know nothing else – and others _want_ nothing else. That guy thought you were Calypso and held you captive because of that. Knowing what that feels like, would you want other women or girls to go through that?”

She shook her head no.

He stood up and grabbed her by her waist, surprising the both of them. “I won’t let those men lose what’s theirs.”

 

It took them time to be ready to attack and to find enough men to win. Charles would’ve been happy to have Flint’s help and that of his crew, but he wasn’t that lucky that time.

Vane and Y/N had split up. He and his men were aiming at Eleanor and the Englishmen on the island, while Jack, Y/N, and their men were swimming silently towards the two British ships left in the harbor.

Y/N still believed this was a suicidal idea. They were all gonna end up dead, whether they’d be shot, hung or pierced by a sword.

“Such a bad idea,” she muttered under her breath while climbing the ladder to get into the ship.

And those fuckers had sent her up first.

Jesus Christ, she’d never understand pirates.

Luckily no one was in sight and she was soon joined by Jack.

She looked at him and shook her head. “You sure we can trust the others with that other ship?”

He simply nodded. “They’ll free the port, and Vane will free the land. We all get what we want and he can rule as he has always wanted.”

She let the men go first. The idea of killing... well, she didn’t like it that much. She’d rather help Charles without murdering anyone, but...

“Hey, you!” someone angrily yelled.

She turned in the direction of the voice. One of Rogers’ men was walking towards her.

“I thought we said no whores on board,” he yelled again. When he reached her, he grabbed her wrist, hurting her.

“Excuse you?” Y/N was fuming. Her? A fucking whore? She stood there, her wrist in his grasp, dripping on the deck of that stupid ship. And she was being called a ’whore’. Before she knew it she had taken her gun and had shot him in the forehead. “Your mother might be a whore, you jackass,” she hissed. She kicked his corpse and took his gun.

She was so done being nice with everyone. She had been called a whore enough when _he_ still believed her to be Calypso. She wasn’t going to stand someone else calling her like that anymore.

 

“What’s all that blood?” Charles asked when Y/N got back to the shore with Jack and his men.

“You know, the Brits bleed too,” Jack huffed, grabbing the rum bottle from which Anne Bonny was drinking. “Eleanor?” he asked.

“Inside your whorehouse,” was Vane’s answer. “Tied up, with Rogers.”

“How did you even come back to life?” someone asked, his voice standing above all the other voices.

He shrugged the question off his shoulders, grabbed Y/N’s hand covered in blood and headed to what had once been Eleanor Guthrie’s chambers.

 

The bedroom in which he led her was cool, a blessing compared to the mugginess outside. The shutters were closed and three oil lamps light the room up.

“You okay?” he asked her, turning her face left and right to check for wounds.

She moved his hands off her face. “I’m fine,” she answered, pissed off. “Are _you_?”

He laughed. “You need more than this to hurt Charles Vane.”

“Should I remember you that the last time Charles Vane got killed?”

She shook her head and turned towards the window.

Dawn was crawling its way through the splits in the shutters.

“What’s wrong?” he walked up behind her, the smell of sea and blood hitting his nostrils.

If she wasn’t Calypso, he didn’t know who else could be.

“I’m so pissed,” she sighed, massaging her temples.

He kissed the exposed skin of her right shoulder. And there it was, the taste of the sea, the taste of _life_. He shouldn’t be drawn to her, he knew it, but fuck.

“Why are you pissed?” he whispered against her skin. He started to wipe the blood off her cleavage.

“This was a fucking suicide,” she hissed. Her hands were trembling furiously. “I _killed_ four people.”

“Hey.” He turned her around and moved locks of hair behind her ears. “It’s okay. You’re okay. We’re all okay.”

“Not them,” she whispered back, wiping some blood off her forehead. “Does this make me a bad person?”

Charles moved to grab a shirt from a chair, dipped it into the washbowl on the desk and used it to clean her face. “You brought me back, without even knowing me, without wanting anything in return. You’re one of the best people I’ve ever met.” He didn’t even know he could be this sweet, he noticed. He just couldn’t help himself around her.

They stared at each other for a while. From outside came the sound of men cheering and singing. Some of the girls from Jack’s brothel were laughing and probably someone was dancing.

Then, suddenly, Y/N reached up, grabbed his cheeks in her bloodied hands and kissed him hard.

It was like a continuation of their first kiss: rough, needy, greedy.

He kissed her back and grabbed her butt, lifting her off the ground. When she circled his waist with her legs, he grunted.

She tugged at his hair, her body pressed up against his, her wet clothes soaking his.

When he broke the kiss she was about to whine, but he attached his lips to her previously bloodied neck and she let out a moan. That kiss had her hips grinding involuntarily against his waist.

Holding her tight, he walked her to Eleanor’s bed and laid her down, laughing a little when she didn’t make a move to remove her legs from his waist. She laughed too and she looked flustered, with her hair dripping on the pillow and her crumpled blood stained clothes.

“You’re so beautiful,” he grinned, taking his shirt off.

She freed herself from her shirt too and got up to kiss his lips again. He tasted like home, like safety, and for a minute of two, she bathed in the hope that she’d somehow be safe with him by her side.

Without breaking the kiss she fumbled with his belt, trying to unbuckle it.

A few minutes later they had somehow managed to undress each other and Charles was now kissing her neck, her hands tugging his hair almost painfully.

His lips burned her skin like fire in their descent down her cleavage and on her breast. Y/N was panting desperately, grinding against his erection.

Charles groaned again and lightly bit the side of her left breast.

“Charles,” Y/N panted.

He looked up at her, smirking, rubbing his thumbs against her already hardened nipples. Some of the blood he had had on his face was now smeared on her skin and this mere fact turned him on even more. “What?”

“I’m begging you.” She was almost whining, wiggling under his gaze.

Her hair was a mess on the pillow and she’d most likely end up knotting it, but she looked like she didn’t care.

Vane went back to kiss her breast and then down to her stomach, lightly touching her bellybutton with his nose. His right hand slipped down to grab her thigh while he positioned himself at her entrance.

He raised his gaze again. She was staring at him, heavily breathing, her chest furiously rising and falling. That was a sight that even the sea couldn’t beat.

He pushed inside her slowly and watched as Y/N’s eyes rolled back in her head, her back arching. He pushed deeper until his hips touched hers and he bent down to kiss her breasts. He let her hands crawl up his arms until her fingers tangled in his hair.

He teased her a little more, kissing her neck and staying still. Then, suddenly, he pushed out and then back in fast. She gasped against his neck and urged him to keep moving, her breath ragged against his skin, her breast brushing against his chest, driving him crazy.

He pushed in again and kissed her behind her ear, inhaling the smell of salt water in her hair and setting up a pace.

Soon enough Y/N was panting even harder under him, kissing and biting the skin of his neck. She was moaning his name again and again and he thought he had never liked it like that before.

“Oh gosh,” she sighed suddenly, scratching his back with her nails, sending shivers down his spine.

He pushed out. “On all four,” he groaned and grabbed her waist when she did as he ordered her.

He opened her legs a bit more and positioned himself between them, bending forward to grab the headboard as he penetrated her again. He straightened his back and started pounding into her fast, hard, mercilessly, grabbing her hips so hard with his hands that bruises were going to form.

She was pushing against him, trying to meet his thrusts.

“Jesus, Charles,” she moaned so loud that he thought everybody on the beach would now know what they were doing.

She stood up, standing on her knees, and rested her head on his left shoulder, grabbing his neck with her right arm. One of his hands snaked up to grab her left breast while he kept thrusting hard into her, moaning her name, biting the skin of her neck, sucking all the salt off it.

A second later he felt her body clench around him and she was a panting mess in his arms, eyes rolled back in her head, body covered in sweat.

He came a few thrusts later, biting her neck and leaving a mark.

When he pushed out of her again, she laid down and dragged him down with her.

“I’m finally king of this fucking place,” he panted, letting her snuggle against his chest.

She laughed. “I’ve never been in the presence of a king.”

He chuckled too. “You helped me with this and with coming back from the dead. I think you can be in my presence whenever you want,” he said. “ _Wherever_ you want,” he added and she chuckled.

With Calypso in his arms he’d stand the idea of not going to sea whenever he wanted, he thought. And shit was it worth it!

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this story, please consider leaving Kudos and/or comments - it'd mean a lot to me xx


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